Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
by LightHeartLoreli
Summary: Moth to a flame. Orbiting each other, holding the other in place. What can you do when the one you can't live without can't live with you? AH Rosalie/Edward story told in three parts for ElleCC's Fandom Gives Back.
1. Chapter 1

**For ElleCC - this is dedicated to the one we love. She was very generous in the Fandom Gives Back and donated money for a Roseward fic (yeah, we KNOW!). This is the result. She owns us, we own the words, and none of us own Twilight. See you down below! **

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****Chapter 1**

The sunlight blinded Edward as he left the bookstore, stepping onto the rain-soaked sidewalk. The storm had just let up after his shift ended, long enough to let the sun light the concrete beneath his gaze with its golden rays. He felt neither as he quickly put on his sunglasses; not the slick concrete under his shoes or the stolen moment of sunlight that dappled across his shoulders. The golden rays that filtered through the trees only reminded him of her hair, and he didn't want to be reminded. He kept his head down and his hands fisted in his pockets as he walked. He wasn't looking forward to going home to the apartment _they_ shared. Home, where _she_ was. Home. What she'd always _been _to him, what he wished she wasn't anymore.

It hadn't always been that way. Once, she had been the center of his everything. Growing up when he'd hear the guys in the locker room speculating on what a fine fuck she'd be or watch the catty bitches alienate her out of jealousy, he'd been there to stick up for her and wipe away her tears. He'd loved her always.

But he never told her.

The sick part was, it wasn't like they were fucking. No, they never had. The closest they got was when she would mold her body to his and they would lay together in his bed, tangled within each other, hearts beating in syncopation. The even sicker part was that everyone assumed that they were fucking and would talk like it was fact. For fifteen years, neither of them said _anything_. No confirmation, no denial. Like two brilliant stars in orbit around each other, their gravity drew in everyone around them. They were both vain enough to get a rise from it, feeding their codependency. He thought it was a sign of how _right _they were, how they _belonged_ to each other. For her it was comfortable. Safe. Home.

But she never told him.

The years went by and he was still sticking up for her to those who misunderstood her and picking up the pieces to those failed relationships. Somewhere along the way, they began to merge into one person. And the one person was ugly and monstrous. _He_ tried to close his eyes to it, tried to ignore the signs along the way. _She_ tried to pull away. She didn't like the ugliness and neither did he, but no matter what they tried, it wasn't working for either of them. She'd arrive home, still smelling of cologne and it didn't fucking matter. She didn't try to hide it from him to spare his feelings. His jealous, accusatory glares when she'd leave the apartment dressed for dates didn't seem to affect her. His shoulders never fell in defeat until after she shut the door behind her. He had to hide that because she might use it against him.

She told him it wasn't normal. He knew it wasn't. He pointed out to her that _they _weren't normal, they weren't ordinary. That's why people stared at them when they were together. They were above all of that when they were together but when they were apart, he explained, they were nothing. They needed each other. Codependency at its finest.

The cycle had begun to wear on him; an endless routine of self-sacrifice without reward or even acknowledgment. The habits of a devoted lifetime were proving difficult to kick, no matter how much he'd convinced himself that she was toxic. No, that wasn't true. She wasn't toxic. _They _were. He'd spent half his lifetime trying to convince her that she loved him back because something in his soul told him she did. Like all the nights she'd crawl into his bed and lay herself next him, her tits smashed up against his back and she'd whisper to him about the old movie she'd watched that evening or how shitty her day at work had been. She never said she watched the movie alone. She didn't have to. He knew; cheap cologne lingers.

As soon as he'd roll over to face her, she'd slip away and go back to her bed. So he stopped rolling over and just let her use him. He'd fall asleep to her soft murmurs and in the morning when he'd wake up, _he_ was always holding _her_. It broke and contented him all at once. Those mornings were the best for him. He'd stroke her hair until she woke up, they'd argue over what cartoons to watch. She always insisted on Looney Tunes until he reminded her that _good_ cartoons weren't on TV anymore and that they'd have to settle for SpongeBob. She'd giggle in agreement and politely ignore his stiff dick.

Their feigned argument became less frequent because Edward began shutting his door at night. He couldn't offer up his heart every night on the altar of her perfect rack, he didn't have it in him anymore. She'd tiptoed to his door with a smile, looking forward to being immersed in the scent of bookshop books and spicy shower gel. Her smile fell when she was faced with his closed door for the first time. Disappointed tears clouded her vision as her hand reached for the knob, turning it only to find it locked. She went back to her room and cried herself to sleep.

And she still never told him.

He didn't sleep that night. The haunting jiggle clicking of the door knob turning in her hand just about broke his heart. _Again._ It was the first time he'd denied her. Yet he knew it couldn't be the last. This cycle had to stop. They weren't _growing _anymore.

And of course, he didn't tell her.

People tried to point out the flaws in their relationship. He'd gone to watch a baseball game at his brother and sister-in-law's apartment a few nights prior. His brother had clapped a strong hand down on his shoulder and encouraged him to break away.

"The two of you are toxic together. She's a fantastic girl, you know I'm not saying otherwise, but you should really think about breaking away. For fuck's sake, it's not even like you're dating. You just... she's always there."

He nodded like he always did when people had this conversation with him. _Agreed_. He knew that he wasn't going to listen. Their words meant nothing. They would never understand that he and Rose fed each other. She'd always be there. Always. It made no difference how unhealthy it was. She was inescapable, and secretly didn't want to escape, but he saw no choice. If he stayed, they would destroy each other.

When he trudged through the front door home from work, he ignored Rose on the couch and he made himself a sandwich, went to his room, and shut the door.

He was just so _tired._

December was cold in Port Angeles, but not cold enough. The rain was an ugly substitute for the promised snow. Time trudged on and soon they found themselves ringing in yet another year.

Rosalie remembered the exact moment that she knew she had lost Edward. There were moments leading up to this one but _this _was it. New Year's Day. The Twilight Zone marathon on the Syfy channel. They lamented, as they often did, that the Sci-Fi channel had changed its name to something as ludicrous as Syfy.

_Why change the name of something that was correct to something that was not? Fucking amateurs. _

Yet, they watched because it aired their marathon and this is what they did: party the night before, loaf on the couch the next day with Rod. She worried that they might not this year; she'd felt him pulling away, saw the constant sadness in his eyes. She used to be able to erase it but now it seemed as if she caused it. She was happy when he took his regular spot on the couch and stayed there the majority of the day. The winter sun had made its early retreat, leaving them bathed only in the light from the 28 inch television that flickered in shades of grey.

"I don't think that they are going to run _To Serve Man,_" Edward mumbled into her hair, his front pressed to her back, arms wrapped tightly around her middle. The worn couch had been his parents', once in their living room, then in their basement, before it was passed along to Edward and Rosalie's apartment. They'd spent a great deal of time on the couch together, so much time over the years it had become their home base, indenting and molding until it held a space for them, waiting until they returned to it.

"They shouldn't," she commented. "Once you've seen it, it loses all appeal. The shock factor is gone at the end and then it's sort of… lame." She looked over her shoulder to find his eyes. They were angry. Sad and angry. Angry and sad. Those were the emotions rolled around and were what she saw most from him these days. And something else, further down. Deeper.

She had always been able to read him. He was a mirror of her. But lately, the read didn't come as easily and it scared her.

Not that she'd ever say that.

"What the fuck, Rosalie? You know it's my favorite."

Yet again, he was getting pissy. Yet again, she was getting sick of it. They used to get pissy _together, _at other people, but never with each other. Lately though, he had this attitude with _her. _She didn't understand it and she sure as hell didn't like it.

Although she was annoyed and didn't appreciate being cursed at, she decided to appeal to his sense of logic. After all, Edward always was the logical one. Both were ruled by their emotions but he was male and therefore, he tried to think things through, at least more than she did. "I'm just saying, there are better ones than _To Serve Man. _They always run that one. Give other episodes a turn, man."

He pulled back, his hands retreating to his sides as he sat. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like _just one more reason. _Sighing, he stood and picked up the discarded popcorn bowl that sat near her knees. "I'm done."

At the time she thought he meant that he was done with the marathon. That alone was irritating because this day and night was _theirs_. He was always hers but lately there had been a note of discord, the friendship they'd built over the past fifteen years was decaying and she was worried but she didn't know how to say it without sounding needy.

Rosalie came to realize that it wasn't that he was just done with the marathon.

He was done with _her. _

It was true that they'd been playing the _push and pull _game for awhile. Well, no. Make that, she'd been playing the game for awhile. Fifteen years and he was always there, steadfast and constant. There to pick her up when she fell. There when she didn't even realize she needed someone until it was him, standing in front of her. Him holding her in his arms. Him and her. Her and him. She and he. He and she.

Until they weren't. That January day, he was no longer hers.

She watched him walk away from the living room, putting the popcorn bowl in the kitchen and then shook his head as though he was trying to clear it of her. Flipping the light on, the room was bathed in ugly florescent light and she blinked owlishly at the sudden harshness. He stood there, near the hallway that led to their separate rooms, and stared at the floor where the rug they got from a truck sale met the wooden planks of the hardwood. Her mouth had gotten them in this mess in the first place so she fought every instinct to ask him what the fuck he was thinking and instead sat there quietly, waiting to see what was on his mind and if he'd share.

He didn't say anything. His lips pressed together and bowed, grimacing. He turned quietly and walked to his room. She heard the sweep of the door against the carpet and then the soft click.

She wandered around the apartment, no longer content watching their show when he was no longer there to watch with her. She could hear the low tones of his voice and she knew he was on the phone and wondered with whom. She washed the popcorn bowl and placed it back in the cabinet. Placing her hands on the counter, she looked around the small room, trying to keep the tears from her eyes and the feelings from her heart. Her body longed to go to him, to knock on his door and climb into his bed and see if she could fix this. Her heart feared the rejection, keeping her rooted in the kitchen. Finally her eyes landed on the laundry basket that sat on the small table, big enough for just them. While she was loading the washer, she came across one of his work shirts, a button-down shirt that smelled like him. She pressed it to her nose and inhaled, feeling a lot stupid and even more sad for doing so, but she _needed_ him. She needed him so badly, needed to be near him in some capacity. The t-shirt she was wearing was discarded, thrown on top of the clothes to be washed and quickly replaced by his shirt. She was, in some small way, comforted being wrapped in the fabric that had only a day ago been wrapped around him. Spinning the knob on the machine, it gurgled as it filled with water. After pouring in the soap, she retired to her room. Though they had done nothing, the day had worn on her and she quickly fell asleep.

Routine called to them the following morning, the alarm clocks going off one right after the other. Rosalie stayed in her bed after she had turned her clock off, listening to Edward's chicken alarm clock sing its song. They didn't share a wall but the damn thing was so loud, it could be heard throughout the apartment. She couldn't complain, though; she'd been the one who had bought the clock for his high school graduation present. She always asked him why he never upgraded to a different alarm clock and even offered to buy him a new one but he said he liked the chicken. And who was she to argue with that logic.

Instead she bought him a heavy silver watch for his most recent birthday. Bella had gone with her to pick it out. They'd visited every store in the mall but Rosalie wasn't satisfied with anything they found there. She finally found what she was looking for at a jeweler's that Bella had heard about from her friend, Angela. Bella pointed out the wedding rings that she and Jasper had looked at together when they had been at that stage in their relationship and Rosalie had smiled and nodded. Her heart wasn't into looking at rings. Not when she knew she was so far from that point in her life.

When she heard Edward moving around the kitchen, she rose from her bed, forgetting herself and the shirt she was wearing.

Her arrival in the kitchen went unacknowledged and she wondered if he was still angry about her _Twilight Zone_ comment. She started to say _good morning _but only got as far as the _good mo-_ when he spun around and took in her appearance. _His_ shirt and _her_ panties. She'd removed her jeans before slipping under her sheet and blanket.

He stared at the shirt, his eyes narrowing and turning to that recently all too familiar look of anger. He turned away from her and dumped his cereal bowl in the sink, throwing his spoon in the sink with a loud clatter. His eyes darted to her bedroom door as he turned back around. She watched his nostrils flare in total confusion. Her mind raced to catch up and she tried to sort the words out and explain why she was standing in their kitchen in his shirt. It wasn't the first time she'd worn his clothing but the rage she saw in his expression made her think that perhaps he wasn't okay with it anymore. She couldn't understand _why. _This is what they did and who they were.

"I'm moving out." There was nothing routine about the statement yet he stated it calmly, as though it were an everyday occurrence. She saw him clenching his fists though, which made her believe that he wasn't as nonchalant as his statement seemed. Ice ran down her spine, spider-webbing through her veins, wrapping her where the fabric once comforted.

Rosalie looked down at the shirt as though it might give her some indication as to why these words were coming from his mouth. It did not.

The rage in his eyes didn't soften and the fear within her grew. She did the only thing she knew how to do.

The wall rose. The wall that outsiders saw on a daily basis but not _him. _Not until more recently, anyway. Emotional bricks placed themselves one on top of the other.

Her voice floated out from behind the wall, sounding detached. Cold. Foreign. She didn't remember thinking the words, but she said them.

"Do you need help packing?"

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**Did we mention that Elle likes angst?**

**KrisBCullen **is our beta love. **TheHeartofLife **is our angst consultant (true facts). **Miztrezboo **is our pre-reader.**  
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**Three parts - all written so we'll probably get them out over the next couple of days. If you're reading and want to leave us a little love, please do so! **


	2. Chapter 2

**For ElleCC - prettiest lady in all the land.**

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Chapter 2**

He sat in the bar, waiting for her to show up. His watch read 7:29. It was the watch that she'd given him when he turned thirty. Twenty-nine minutes late. He'd arrived early, although he was trying desperately not to appear anxious. It seemed like she was always late, which hadn't always been the case. She'd only recently developed the habit of running behind schedule. Just another indication that she didn't care.

He'd emailed her and asked her to meet him there. Her reply was stiff but she agreed. It hadn't been a clean break like he'd hoped. He craved her, felt the constant pull of her orbit even though he'd moved across town and taken up residence alone. He was forced to face the fact that he might never be free of her gravity. Half a lifetime in her glow, no matter how clouded and murky it may have been, was embedded too deeply in him. With a wave of his fingers, he signaled to the bartender to pour him another. It wasn't the first time that night he'd made the gesture and, if the night continued the way it was going, it wouldn't be the last. It was a way to numb himself from being brushed off by her. Again.

His sleek black cell phone sat on the bar and he flipped it open, wondering if he'd missed a call from her. It was ridiculous, of course; letting his feelings be dictated by her actions, hanging on her every whim. Even if he hadn't heard the ring of the phone, he would have seen the screen light up. He _almost_ fell into his old habit of dreaming up excuses for her, but he quickly quelled the thoughts of possible flat tires or being held up at work before they reached the surface.

Now that he had some distance, he was able to see that when they were together and things were working right, they were unstoppable. Other people didn't know what to do with themselves when _they_ would enter a room. They would stop and just watch them, gawking at their perfection. Yin and yang. Both beatific in their own right, both complimenting the other while standing as their own people.

If only they knew what to do with each other.

That's what he'd never been able to figure out, how to make her wake the fuck up and see how wonderful they _could _be. While he sat there waiting he tried to isolate the reason for asking her to see him. It troubled him that aside from all the love and baggage and need for closure, the reason was to check up on her. Even if he hated loving her, he loved her nonetheless. Since he'd left, he had replayed the last argument again and again. It seemed pointless and nit-picky at the time, but after he left her to watch the rest of the marathon alone, he thought about why it had upset him so much. He couldn't understand why she wasn't willing to indulge him just for the sake of happiness and fucking harmony once in a while. That wasn't the clincher, though. Seeing her in another guy's shirt the next morning look ing pink cheeked and freshly fucked, completely shredded the last tatters of his tolerance and respect for her.

He sloshed back the last of his scotch and glanced at his watch. The watch _she _gave him.

7:42

Switching to beer, he ordered another drink, because he knew she wasn't coming. He'd get a phone call tomorrow with a breezy apology and some excuse about who-gives-a-fuck. He contemplated downing his drink in one desperate guzzle or giving her until the top of the hour to show up. Making allowances again. He decided to sip his beer. Slowly. Determined to savor the taste of bitterness and wasted years.

He felt a hand slide gently over his shoulder followed by a seductive cooing voice in his ear. He looked up and saw dark wavy hair and rich tawny skin. She said her name was Leah. It didn't matter to him. In the past he'd found comfort in their bodies but never in their conversation. He never asked their names. They were all alike, the tourist girls he bedded but kept secret from Rose. Just a momentary distraction, a means of releasing pent up energy. They were nothing more to him, because they weren't _her_. Certainly none of them could take his mind off of being stood up by Rose that night. His snort and dismissive wave told Leah he wasn't interested; he wanted to be left alone to focus all his misery on Rosalie as was his habit. Ignoring the inviting smiles of Leah and her friends, he looked at his watch again.

7:55

He paid the bartender and stood up, polishing off the last of the beer he'd ordered. Sloppily, he pushed his arms through his jacket and left the bar.

She wasn't coming.

Rosalie's legs pumped quickly and she slightly cursed at her choice in footwear as she walked toward the local dive bar. She'd thought about driving but then didn't know what state she'd be in when the night was over. She never knew what state she'd be in when it came to Edward anymore. Her day at the land surveying office was monotonous, but monotony proved to be tiring and wore on her brain far more than a job that could actually stimulate. Her position as an administrative assistant consisted of her pushing papers and flirting her way through phone calls with dirty old men who considered her nothing more than eye candy when they came to visit.

Mr. Jenks showed up just as she was locking the doors to the office, calling her sweetheart and asking for her to run copies of a recent survey. She'd already stayed later than normal, having no reason to rush home any longer. Rosalie sighed at the request, taking the twenty page report to the large copier and feeding each piece through by hand. The copier was finicky and she knew that it would misbehave unless she paid it the proper attention it demanded.

She drove home, the home that she once shared with Edward, and changed clothes before heading back out again. She knew she was late and it would have been quicker to drive but she knew she could always talk him into giving her a ride home.

She'd been surprised when he had sent her an email asking to meet her at the bar that was once _theirs_. She answered with a quick _yes_, overjoyed that he'd contacted her, and got back to the work that had piled on her desk. She wished she had time to write more but her boss was breathing down her neck with _important _meetings. She wanted to tell him there was no meeting more important than hers with him but she knew he wouldn't take kindly to that and jobs were hard to come by.

His email was certainly _not _expected. Since he had moved out, he didn't initiate contact often. She was the one who called, who cajoled, who pressed. She felt out of control, a feeling she wasn't accustomed to and didn't like one bit. Instead of allowing Edward to know of her vulnerability, she fought harder to gain the upper hand, to get him back to where they once were.

Little did she know that he didn't want to get back to where they once were, he wanted _more._

Little did she know, _she_ wanted _more _too. It was hard to sort through the feelings of what she did and didn't want. She'd been so comfortable and so safe with him and his status as _best friend_, even the mere _thought _of _more _scared the shit out of her.

So the fact that he took the initiative to email her said something. She wasn't sure exactly what, but something.

And now she was late. As she waited for a line of cars to pass, she pulled out her cell phone once again, stabbing at the buttons and thinking maybe if she pressed hard enough, the cell phone would come back to life. But the battery had been low since she'd forgotten to charge it overnight. He was always responsible for charging their phones; they used to live on the counter together and he'd always made sure that hers was plugged in before they went to sleep. A lot of things she took for granted fell by the wayside when he moved out shortly after the first of January. She made but one resolution.

Get him back.

She needed him back in her life and not only did she need him back in her life, she was willing to fight. She recalled _The Princess Bride's _version of "to the death" being "to the pain." She was already in so much pain, there could be nothing worse. It propelled her forward, her resolve only that much stronger. She would make this happen.

She tried to talk to Bella about Edward. After all, Edward was her brother-in-law, but she and Bella had known one another first. She was the one who introduced Bella and Jasper to each other. Bella only uttered words into her coffee like _loyalty _and _taking sides. _Rosalie snapped at her, telling her that where she and Edward were concerned, they'd always been on the _same side. _Edward just needed help remembering that. Bella shrugged and apologized, telling her she was on her own with that and then shifting under Rose's unyielding stare. Bella couldn't have looked more relieved when Jasper showed up a few minutes later to pick her up from the restaurant.

Jasper merely nodded at Rosalie. He didn't say anything; he didn't need to. The nod said enough. _Do what you can to make this right. Make him better._ She held his gaze and thought once again of her resolution as she watched Bella and Jasper walk toward the door.

Someone brushed past her and she realized the line of cars had long since passed. Picking up her pace again, she hurried into the crosswalk, toward the bright blaze of the movie store. She knew she was already late, although she wasn't aware the exact time because she didn't wear a watch and relied on her cell phone for the time. She was nearly past the movie store without a second thought but she still had New Years and The Twilight Zone and her resolution on her mind. Instead of walking past the entrance, she turned in, pushing her way past the heavy double glass paned doors. She made a beeline to the movies she saw for sale, finding the box set that she wanted. The Twilight Zone, Collection 1, _To Serve Man._ $53.99.

She didn't have enough cash on her so she paid with her credit card, slipping the gift into her over-sized bag, before continuing on her five block journey to the bar. She knew that she was beyond late and her feet were miserable in her shoes, so she slipped them off and held them in one hand by their heels, running down the sidewalk in stockinged feet. Just before she reached the entryway of the bar, the shoes were dropped to the ground, sliding them on once again. She patted at her windblown hair, trying to make herself presentable for him. He was the only one she would ever do this for and she knew she had to tell him that. She had to tell him everything.

It was then she saw him. Shoulders hunched, hands in pockets, head bowed.

Walking away.

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**ElleCC **owns us (quite literally).

**KrisBCullen **makes our words right when they are wrong.

**TheHeartofLife** hounds us for teasers and makes us write faster.

**Miztrezboo **leaves us love notes as our pre-reader.

Oh, you little Roseward lovers, we love you. Thanks for putting your faith in us, even if you feel dirty. Converting E/Bers, one story at a time. *insert evil laugh here*


	3. Chapter 3

**As always, for our girl, ElleCC. **

**How many chapters does it take to get to the heart of a Roseward fic?**

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Chapter 3**

He didn't notice the chill in the air as he walked home. The insulation of beer and scotch kept him warm and numb to everything, everything except Rose not showing up to meet him. He rarely made contact with her, allowing his mask to crack only when his worry surpassed the point of reason. He didn't bother to zip up his jacket and it flapped around him haphazardly as he faced into the wind. He trudged his way over slick asphalt under the green glow of traffic lights, grumbling to himself about why she hadn't come. He fucking swore to himself right then to never try again. Never hope again. Never speak to her again.

Never.

His drunken stupor inspired ridiculous plans. _Move away._ But to where?_ Seattle? _He gave up that idea immediately. _Not far enough. _He knew she'd find him there eventually. Why she would come looking he couldn't say, but she'd find him nevertheless. She always did. He wondered why she couldn't just let him go. Why she kept her perfectly French manicured nails embedded in his back like talons. He'd asked her before and she could never say. She just stared at him blankly, searching her mind for a reply that wouldn't hurt him. It didn't matter that she couldn't answer. Her answering silence told him everything he needed to know.

He slogged up the stairs of his new apartment building until his feet brought him to number 328. He pulled out his key and after a few drunken stabs at the door knob, managed to unlock the finicky lock he had trouble with even when he was sober. He pulled his jacket off and tossed it on their couch. _His _couch. He leaned a palm against the wall to steady himself as he clumsily kicked off his tennis shoes. That's when he heard the click of the door knob. He didn't have to turn around to know. He felt her gravity the moment she was in the room. She'd found him, just like he knew she always would. She'd never stop. He squared his shoulders, determined not to let her ruin him.

"Just leave, Rose." It was hardly more than a whisper, but his exhaustion was obvious in every syllable.

"Edward, wait-" she began, dropping her bag on the floor with a heavy thud and rushing toward him.

He shied away from her. "I shouldn't have emailed you. I don't know what the fuck I was thinking..." he mumbled hopelessly and started toward his bedroom, peeling off his t-shirt along the way. She followed, of course.

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" she asked, unable to completely hide the panic in her voice.

"Just leave, Rose. I don't want you here."

His dismissal fucking hurt but it only flared her determination. "You're drunk and I'm not leaving until we can talk. I'll sleep on our... I mean... on _your_ couch."

He was too drunk to argue. The room was beginning to spin and he knew he was minutes from passing out. He only shrugged at her and slammed his bedroom door in her face.

She didn't wait long. She knew he'd be out cold in a few minutes. She let those minutes pass and ignored his request for her to leave. He needed her, and she _wanted_ to be there for _him_. She walked softly to his door and slowly, silently opened it. His mattress was on the floor, he hadn't set up the box spring yet. As she suspected he was passed out with his jeans still on and snoring quietly, something he only did when he was drunk. She crept forward and bent over, unbuttoning the button fly of his jeans. She half expected him to fight her off, pissy and belligerent which was typical of drunk Edward. But he didn't protest as she pulled the waist over and down off his hips; he let her help him. She stripped down to her underwear too and climbed into the bed beside him. She stroked his hair and whispered to him about Mr. Jenks bringing her the report to copy at the last minute and how she'd stopped at Blockbuster. She fell asleep to his deep resonating snore with her arm wrapped protectively around him.

It's how they used to be.

He woke up just before her the next morning, his head pounding and his mouth tasting like stale beer. Her soft breathing fluttered against his chest, his toned arms encircled her. It's what _always_ happened. He would fall asleep with her on _her_ terms, and wake up to find himself wrapped around her, trying desperately to declare his own. He wanted to pull away, to extract himself from her embrace and her long blonde hair tangled around him. He started to, but that woke her up. It always did. She knew the instant he broke the contact with her. Her eyes flew open and she smiled brilliantly, overjoyed to still be in his bed, in his arms, in his life. Until she looked up and saw his eyes. They were tortured.

"Why are you still here?" he asked even as he subconsciously squeezed her closer.

"You needed me. You _need_ me."

"I can't be your consolation prize anymore, Rose."

"Consolation?" she asked, confused.

"Why did you have to flaunt it in front of me like that? Wearing some random asshole's shirt right in front of me?" he questioned her with a stiff jaw as he nuzzled his nose into her hair. He sent her plenty of mixed signals too. He couldn't help it, he'd steal embraces and offer tender touches, then pull away to protect himself.

Her mind flew back to that day, to the stupid argument over _To Serve Man_. To how she felt when he'd left the room, the confusion over the future and a sense of loss she couldn't understand. She'd found his shirt in the laundry and slipped it on to drown herself in remnants of his cologne and steadfast loyalty. She'd fallen asleep in his shirt, but didn't sleep nearly as well when she was in his bed.

"You think I had someone over that night?" It finally dawned on her.

"You were in his shirt, traipsing around the apartment the next morning like it was the best fucking lay of your life," he muttered.

Firstly, she didn't recall any _traipsing_. Instead, she remembered how devastated she was because he had told her he was moving out. That was the only thing _she_ remembered about that morning. Her heart shattered to realize how much this stupid misunderstanding had ruined everything. But it wasn't just a misunderstanding that had led them here, it was carelessness on her part and lack of communication on his. She had rubbed her dates in his face and taken him for granted, but he'd hurt her too. Not saying anything can do as much damage as saying the wrong thing.

She pursed her lips at him. "It was your shirt, jackass. I still have it if you want it back." She shook her head, deciding that she wasn't going to make it easy for him to push her away again. "No. You know what? On second thought... if you want it back, you're going to have to come and get it. It's the only thing I have left of you."

Edward listened to Rosalie's words and clearly heard her heart clogging up her throat. In the past, her coming to him like she did would have been enough reward for his years of patient obedience. He couldn't ignore that fact that he'd never seen her more beautiful. Her agitation colored her cheeks a lovely peach and he bit his lip, frustrated by the effect she still had on him.

"What are you talking about? For the past fifteen years, all we've had was each other. You owned me, Rosalie. And I owned you, though not to the same extent. That's why I had to leave. We weren't living any more and the energy wasn't there. We used to burn together. Why don't we burn anymore?"

She moved toward him. He moved back. She visibly winced at his reaction, but shrugged her shoulders slightly in a show of determination. She wasn't going to let him go. She kept moving toward him until he was flat on the bed. Her hands reached up and her slender fingers twisted possessively in his hair. His jaw clenched even as his knees went weak. He hated this duality, this constant warring of what _should be_ in opposition to what _was_.

"We can still burn. It will be different than before but it's right here. God, Edward, you must feel it." She placed her hands on his chest, the thrum of his heart pounding against her hand. She grabbed his, placing it over her left breast. "It hasn't gone anywhere, we just can't ignore it any longer otherwise it will consume is." She moved closer still, her chin touching his, the unshaven whiskers digging in. The resolution of the year dug its heels in her mind, determined not to make her stop running. "I'm going to fight for you, Edward," she whispered against his lips. He whimpered hopelessly still fighting the overwhelming urge to seal their lips in a kiss.

"Rosalie, please...don't," he whispered back desperately. There wasn't any part of his heart she hadn't used up already.

"I have to. You have to. It's the only way. And I know I've been cruel," she admitted.

"Fucking heartless," he agreed, his lips still _right there_. Right where they both needed them to be.

"You should have told me." The words she spoke held so many different meanings. She meant them all.

"It wouldn't have mattered," he countered. The hand that didn't hold his heart pushed into his hair, tilting his head further into her, she moved her nose slightly to the left, making room for his. They shared breaths.

"Yes, it would have. I would have told you, too."

He pressed his head against her hand, opening his eyes to look at her. After a bleary moment, he focused on her and saw that she was telling him the truth. It was there, right in front of him, staring at him in blue.

He hesitated.

His brow furrowed deeply. "I can't give anymore, Rose."

"I'm not asking you to. Let me give to you until you fill back up." She lowered her head, her nose skimming his chest, her lips pressing firmly to where his heart thudded wildly. He wanted to let her. He _wanted_ to believe her.

She inched her way back up, her eyes meeting his. "Are you happier now? Satisfied?" She meant here, living without her.

"I'm miserable now. You were the air I breathed, the reason I _was._ But somewhere in the last few years, we stopped being good for one another. You had to see that. _Please_ tell me that you saw that."

"It's because we weren't honest. We were holding back. _That's_ what caused the toxicity."

"Maybe," he murmured. He wanted to believe her words. He needed to because he knew that there was no way that he could survive in this world without her right by his side. It might be painful but damn it, he needed her.

She kissed him and there was no point in resisting. He silenced all the voices in his head telling him it was mistake and allowed himself to enjoy this for what it was, because it might never happen again. He knew if it meant nothing to her, he'd be paying for it tomorrow. But now, in this almost perfect moment, he just _lived_. Her kiss felt real, full of passion and desperation that made him grind his hips into her without realizing it. Edward pulled away from her when she moaned in his mouth, he could only take so much.

"Rose, _please..."_ he begged. "I'm not sure that I can..."

"I love you," she said plainly, ignoring his pleas.

Even if it was a lie, he'd been waiting half his life to hear her utter it. He grabbed her face forcefully, his fingers wrapping around strands of blonde hair, his mouth on hers again before she had time to take her words back and this moment from him. He kissed her deeply and slowly, memorizing her taste and searing this moment into his memory forever.

She had to break the kiss to breathe, but he was having none of that and he leaned into her, his forehead still resting against hers. She laughed huskily. "I'm not going anywhere, Edward," she promised. He only squeezed her tighter.

Their limbs tangled and they spent the rest of the day in his bed. He found that he had much more to give her after all. The hours slipped past and they were lost to the world, too consumed with each other's quiet laughter and satisfied groans to be bothered with reality. And later, much later, they went back to the couch to watch not only _To Serve Man _but her favorite, too. The couch still held their shapes, as if it had waited for this moment. It had never given up hope.

When they returned to his bed and drifted off to sleep, he cradled her in his arms, stroking her hair and murmuring in her ear.

He was _finally_ holding _her._

_The End_

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Check out Sarah Blasko's version of the title - it was the driving force.

Thank you to our loves **KrisBCullen, TheHeartofLife, **& **Miztrezboo.**

We hope you've enjoyed! We had such an interest in Roseward (again, yes, we are shocked!) with the FGB that we agreed to write two Roseward stories. This was the first, for **Elle. **

The second is for a team know as** "Team Cellolie" - hev99, juliebutterfly, winterstale, whatsmynomdeplume, mycrookedsmile, and fngrcufs **bought cellist Rose and conductor Edward. That's in the beginning stages - we can't wait to write it! Hope you'll check it out.

**Reviews are love and we love you.  
**


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